


Flowers for my killer

by Kerosenia



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2019 Era (Phandom), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Cute Dan Howell/Phil Lester, Dan Howell/Phil Lester Comfort, Dan Howell/Phil Lester Fluff, Dan and Phil World Tour 2018: Interactive Introverts, Gay Phil Lester, M/M, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerosenia/pseuds/Kerosenia
Summary: Mutilated corpses are being left on London back alleys by an unknown figure. Detective Inspector Phil Lester and his team at the Scotland Yard are tasked with finding the culprit.Meanwhile, Phil battles his own feelings after his long term boyfriend dumps him out of the blue.
Relationships: Dan Howell & Phil Lester, Dan Howell/Phil Lester, Phil Lester/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. crimson

_His heart was beating out of his chest. Blood roared in his ears, intertwining with the whine of the police car behind him. He scrambled down the dark alley, bright crimson staining his palms._


	2. 1

He groaned loudly, patting his bedside table for his glasses. His vision cleared as he put on his glasses, making eye contact with his reflection in the mirror propped up on the wall opposite him. 

"Fuck," he muttered. His eyes were rimmed red and his hair stuck up in a hundred different directions. He couldn't believe the pale, scraggly looking figure in the mirror could be him. 

Phil stretched, running last night's events over and over again in his mind. Chris had taken him out to a nice restaurant and Phil was sure he was about to pop the question, after all they had enjoyed 2 incredible years together. Instead, Chris had smiled sadly and spoke gently, but his words were like ice. "It's not you," Chris had sighed. He had fucking shattered Phil's heart, with a pointless cliché nonetheless.

Dwelling on last night is no use now, Phil decided. He had work in less than 2 hours anyway. He stumbled to the kitchen of his tiny flat and made himself a huge cup of coffee. Maybe caffeine can numb the pain? 

The Tube always suck, even on a decent day. A stranger chatted incessantly into a mobile phone, a baby howled amidst the sea of lively people. Phil had been squeezed into a random corner of the train, trying not to touch the man in front of him. At long last, a pleasant female voice announced his station. Phil untangled himself from the stranger and stepped off along with a wave of bodies. The Police Station was only a short walk from the station so Phil could stretch his legs and clear his mind. 

"Morning Inspector Lester," chirped the bubbly blonde receptionist. 

"Morning." 

He walked down the hall, avoiding the gaze the other officers' gaze. He hoped his colleagues wouldn't notice his puffy eyes and desolate expression. Finally Phil approached his own office and stepped inside, collapsing onto the office chair behind his desk. He should have called in sick or something. There was no way he would be able to survive an entire day-

"Moooorning Phil, rough night?" 

"PJ? Oh my god, I have to tell you-"

"Later Lionheart, meeting in 5." and he disappeared down the hall way, leaving Phil's door ajar. Damn him. PJ had been Phil's best friend since the Academy, and he had always been able to confide in him. They had been each others' rock, and Phil needed to tell him everything, preferably with a large tub of ice cream and a shitty rom-com playing in the background.

But for now, Phil had actual police business to attend to.


	3. addict

_This is wrong. And he knew it. But the rush, the rush he got from their pleas for mercy too addictive. Power of life or death too intoxicating. This wasn't his usual hunting ground, but eyeing the young blonde man gyrating on the dance floor, he knew he had found his prey._


	4. 2

The Superintendent's grisly meeting had shocked Phil out of his heartbreak. Despite being an Inspector on the force for years, the depth of human perverseness still disgusted him. A corpse had been discovered in an alley, which was where Phil would be spending the rest of his day.

"Bloody hell, what happened here?" DI Lester muttered, running a hand through his dark ginger hair. Several people in white suits and masks were busy at work within a fence of police tape. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and kneeled down beside the mutilated body. From a distance, the man looked like he could have been sleeping curled up in a foetal position, but up close, Phil could see the mess of crimson forming a puddle around the man. Phil's skin crawled at the juxtaposition of the foul mess and the peaceful expression on his face. His hands were missing, cut off at the wrist, and the chest was a mangled mess of flesh, possibly the result of multiple stab wounds. For some reason, his face had been left alone. Pale pink lips and porcelain skin with eyes closed, as if in a deep, less permanent slumber. 

"No ID on the body, no way to fingerprint because, well, you know. Club owner over there discovered the body when he was taking out the trash. Said he recognised him, saw him partying here last night." One of the white clad people said in the general direction of Phil, too busy inspecting the crime scene to pay him any real attention. "You wanna talk to the witness?" 

The owner was a middle-aged man with a large beer belly and closely cropped brown hair, who was visibly shaking. Phil pulled the glove off his right hand and stuck it forward to shake the other man's. "I'm Detective Inspector Lester. I'd like to get a witness statement from you, please." 

The brunet's eyes widened, "I'm not in any trouble am I? I 'aven't done anyfing, I was just mindin' my own fookin business-" 

"No, no, I just need a statement. You found him this morning, right? At approximately what time?"

"Er, abou' 8:30? I was takin out the rubbish from the kitchen when I saw 'im, oh christ I thought he was sleeping, we get lots of homeless people out here yeah? But when, when I went up to him, to try to wake him up... fuck there was so much fuckin blood it was all over his shirt- and, and," the man took a deep rattling breath and buried his face in his hands. Phil sighed and in the softest voice he could muster, said:

"Deep breaths, you're doing great. You saw him here last night too?"

"Yeah, we get a lo' of people but I remember him. Kept on hittin' on guys, the fag-" Phil jerked back. 

"Please, continue." Phil forced a smile. The owner squinted through his fingers at Phil. 

"What, you're not one of 'em too are ya?" 

Phil decided to ignore that question. "Did you see him with anyone or more specifically, leave with anyone?" 

He huffed and replied: "Nah. Stopped paying attention to 'im after a bit. But I'm not a homophobe or wha'ever it's called, all right? It's just that, ain't this the third body found like this? Other two were found behind them gay bars weren't they? Dunno, maybe there's a connection or some'ing." 

He couldn't believe this some 40-year-old bar owner figured out that connection before he, a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard did! Phil was determined to solve this case, and the link between the victims had just been served to him on a silver platter.

"Thank you for your time. We'll contact you if we need anything else."


	5. immortal

_He stretched, shoulders popping. He supposed the police would come knocking on his door any day now. Eh, it had been fun, exciting, thrilling. He thought about the 3, forever immortalised in missing posters and newspaper articles and obituaries. 3 was such a nice, rounded number, but he could not help but imagine a fourth. Could he be the new Ripper? Imagine that. A grin rounded his features. Guess he was going hunting again tonight._


	6. 3

As he stepped out of the Police station, the cold September air engulfed Phil, the day was finally over. He hurried to the Tube, shuffling onto the first train. Ten hour work days were extremely demanding, especially for a homicide detective like Phil. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in Chris' arms and drink hot cocoa - oh. Oh yeah. That's right. He had been dumped. He had nothing to go back to except a lonely apartment and a cold bed.

In a daze, Phil strolled off the train 2 stops before his own. Across from the tube exit, a small bar with neon signs pulled Phil in and before he knew it, he was bawling into a margarita and detailing his entire life story to the bartender. 

"We had-*hic* TWO beaUTIFUL y-years!"

"Oh honey, he wasn't worth it," the bartender sighed, pouring out another margarita. "Forgive me for the cheesiness, sweetheart, but this drink's for when you're dumped without warning, the salt on the rim of the glass comes from your tears and the slice of lime comes from their sour heart."

Phil frowned, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "Th-then, what's all that that *hic*, t-tequila for?" Phil hiccuped, taking another swig of his drink.

"To dull the pain," A man Phil could only describe as tall, dark and cute slid onto the stool beside him. The bartender took one look at the stranger, gave Phil a generous wink and moved down to the other end of the bar, leaving the two alone. He had a mop of dark hair and soft brown eyes that made Phil melt right then and there. The stranger must have been at least 6'2, but he just looked so small and gentle and sweet, Phil's alcohol addled brain murmured. He just wanted to curl up and hold him and kiss him and... God he hoped he hadn't accidentally said that out loud.

All of a sudden, a burst of energy exploded in his chest.

"I'm Burt, Burt Lancaster by the way," the stranger stuck out his hand, a lopsided grin graced his lovely features.

Phil eyed it and a sly smirk(that he never would've been able to muster if he had been sober) lit up his face. "N-no, *hic* you're not Burt, he, Burt would be, would be over a *hic* h-hundred years old. And you, Mister, don't, heh, look, a, day, over, 25!" Phil teased, accentuating each word with a lazy jab at the stranger. "Now whyyy don't you *hic* tell, me, tell me who you reeeeaaally are? *hic* Heyyyy?"

Something flickered in the stranger's eyes. "You got me!" He held up his hands in a mock surrender. "My name's actually Dan. Dan James." He smiled. "What's yours?"

Phil was very pleased with himself. "Philll Les-les, lester." Dan lazily placed his hand onto Phil's thigh. Phil's face glowed crimson, and he hoped he could blame it on the alcohol. The hand had started rubbing gentle circles. 

"Phil, why don't you come home with me?"

Phil swirled his glass and and bit his lip. On one hand, this was a complete stranger in a dingy London pub. On the other, he was fucking gorgeous and the thought of going home to his empty bed depressed him.

He downed the rest of his drink. He could have sworn it was more salty than before, but by now, Phil didn't have a single flying fuck left to give. He started to feel dizzy, and sleepy, he just wanted a nice, warm bed, no, he wanted Dan, he wanted Dan Jam, Jamie, James, Jim whatever it was. He wanted him. "Fuuuuck it, let's go!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the 2nd chapter I wrote, but I ended up changing a lot so the flow is a bit weird. Drunk!Phil is adorable though :)


End file.
